


The truth will set you free (or so I'm told)

by SmilinStar



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alien Virus, F/M, Gen, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 17:59:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1397233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmilinStar/pseuds/SmilinStar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“This isn't like before you know,” he said softly, “You're not alone in this.” “I'm not sure that makes it any easier.” It's like the damned Chitauri virus all over again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The truth will set you free (or so I'm told)

 

*****

 

“Fitz, Simmons, wrap it up guys, we're moving out in five.” Ward's voice carried through the radios loud and clear despite the torrential rain pour.

 

The team's search for an 0-8-4 reported to S.H.I.E.L.D. by the Columbian government had turned into a bit of a bust.

 

Jemma had been knee deep in mud and freezing cold river water for the past two hours collecting samples of soil, rock and abnormal flora to no great discovery. The area was overgrown with the plants, and by Jemma's own approximation, they had to have been growing unnoticed by the locals for at least somewhere between six to eight weeks. It had only drawn attention when the people had started exhibiting strange alterations to their personalities, and it wasn't until one of them had embarked on a murderous rampage attacking a neighbouring village that the local authorities had become involved.

 

It was the numerous accounts of strange behaviours amongst family members and friends, and people acting in complete contradiction to their normal selves that had filtered its way through the channels and come to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s attention, and what had led the team to their current predicament.

 

“Ugh, finally!” Jemma groaned, wading her way out of the water and on to _not so dry_ land, “We should have left an hour ago, when I first said so. At least then it hadn't been bucketing down on us!”

 

“It's not that bad!”

 

She glared up at her counterpart, sat nice and dry in the tent they'd constructed to house all the high tech gear they'd had to bring along for analysis, and of course his dwarves. “We've seen worse,” Fitz shrugged.

 

Skye laughed, “I mean UK right? You should be used to a little rain.”

 

“Haha yes, the 'it's always raining in England'-

 

“And Scotland!”

 

“-joke. We have rain yes, but tropical rainstorms? Tell me again how this is a 'little' rain?”

 

Jemma shook her arms, wiping her mud covered hands on her waterproof outerwear.

 

“Ok. Point taken,” Skye surrendered, “Need a hand with anything?”

 

“Yes actually, could you take these samples and put them in those humidity controlled containers at the back there?”

 

Skye looked back at her blankly and so she could only sigh a quick, “Never mind, I'll do it. Just help Fitz tidy away the equipment, or we'll be here for another hour at least.”

 

“That I can do,” she replied, spinning on her feet and heading further into the small tent.

 

Jemma wasn't in the least convinced these particular specimens of flora would yield any answers. There was nothing under scrutiny of the microscope that said they were anything but ordinary plants of the _philodendron_ genus, commonly found in the understorey layer of tropical habitats and often cultivated to be kept as indoor plants due to their lack of need for copious amounts of sunlight. Nothing of course apart from the fact they had somehow grown like a virus and spread across nearly 15% of the forest floor, and had even ventured into the river, where they had somehow miraculously survived their roots becoming entirely waterlogged.

 

Yes, they were an oddity. But no, they didn't really explain why the most rational of men were spouting warnings about dragons, dark magic, and vampiric soul-eating monsters.

 

It was a dead end, and she was convinced there was another explanation for what was happening. She just wished she hadn't had to spend so long freezing her backside off to come to that conclusion.

 

“Careful with that!” Fitz's voice broke her out of her thoughts and she turned just in time to see Skye unceremoniously drop the boxed up centrifuge on to a very open crate, housing a very vulnerable looking _Dopey._

 

The resounding crunch was met with a wince, and a not entirely convincing “Whoops.”

 

Fitz's ensuing tirade was thankfully cut short when quite suddenly the tent collapsed in on them.

 

“What the hell?!”

 

“I said, five minutes guys. Five minutes.”

 

Under the cover of tent induced darkness, no one bore witness to Agent Grant Ward's broad, self satisfied grin. He'd enjoyed that far more than was strictly necessary.

 

*****

 

“So what are we thinking AC? Alien virus? Poisonous pollen?”

 

Coulson didn't bat an eyelid as Skye waltzed into his office and proceeded to jump on to his desk, and sit on his paper work.

 

“I'm waiting for Agent Simmons to finish her preliminary investigations before we jump to any conclusions.”

 

“Oh come on, but you must have some thoughts? Simmons is not sharing an inch. Personally, I still think it's dark magic and those plants are bogus.”

 

Coulson continued to type away on his laptop, “Uh huh, I guess we'll see. Now as much as I love our little chats Skye-”

 

She jumped back off the table, hands in the air in the universal sign of surrender, before interrupting him mid-sentence, “Going. I'm going. I think I'll go ask May what she thinks.”

 

“You do that.”

 

In all honesty, Skye was bored out of her mind. There was nothing really for her to do here. Of course there wasn't really anything for anyone but Simmons to do here. This particular case fell into her expertise and her expertise alone. Since she'd been given the all clear medically by Jemma a few weeks ago, this morning had been the first time she'd even been allowed on to the field. Even then she had only been a tag along with no real purpose or input. It was frustrating. She knew the team were only protecting her, wanting her to take it easy, but she was fed up of being coddled and was dying of boredom.

 

Maybe it was time to corner Ward again about getting back on track with her physical training.

 

Changing direction, she headed down to the gym instead of the cockpit, but wasn't entirely surprised to find him in the lab. Through the glass doors it looked like he was in the middle of a very heated discussion with Fitz.

 

Stepping into the lab, the doors sliding closed behind her she could hear much more clearly just what exactly it was that they were arguing about.

 

They were nearly toe to toe, with Ward towering over the Scot, but the smaller man in no way, shape or form looked even the slightest intimidated. Both were red in the face, and though the colour suited neither men, Fitz unfortunately was the one who came off looking like a tomato.

 

“I think you're having trouble computing the fact that we are talking about equipment worth millions, nay billions of dollars. Not surprising since you probably have a peanut sized brain and can't comprehend beyond single digits!”

 

“Hey, hey, hey!” Skye cut in, slipping in between the two of them and using each hand to try and push them apart. Neither budged, feet firmly planted and heels digging in. “What is going on?”

 

She looked between the two of them and got no answers. Instead they continued to stare each other down, nostrils flaring.

 

Skye looked around the room, searching for some help. She found her help in the form of Simmons who apparently didn't seem the least bit perturbed by the argument and who currently had her eyeballs glued to her microscope.

 

“Uh Simmons? A little help here please?”

 

 

“Simmons!”

 

The biochemist snapped up straight, head jerking in her direction, confused momentarily before realising what had been asked of her with Skye's rather pointed stare at the testosterone induced situation playing out in front of them.

 

“Oh,” she said, “Fitz is angry at Ward for the stunt he pulled earlier with the tent as he may have accidentally stepped on Sneezy in the kerfuffle and also knocked his laptop over and shattered the screen. And Ward, well Ward doesn't get what the big deal is.”

 

At that Ward seemed to snap out of his funk and turned his head to stare at Simmons. The anger appeared to be defusing just a little. By any means, he was starting to return to a normal shade and managed to look only moderately disgruntled.

 

“It was just a small harmless prank.”

 

“Harmless? Harmless!”

 

“Oh come on Fitz,” Skye cajoled, slapping him on the shoulder, “It was funny!”

 

“Funny?” He turned towards her now, and she had to back up a little, because that had most definitely been the wrong thing to say, “Well thanks to you both, I have _two_ broken, non-functional Dwarves, that are going to take me hours to fix and don't get me started on the state of my computer.”

 

What she really wanted to say (but wisely chose not to) was that yes, she was sorry about that, but it really wasn't that big of a deal. Fitz spent, on average, two hours a day tinkering around with those robots of his and he could fix them with his eyes closed and anyway-

 

“The holotable's still working,” Ward said with a shrug.

 

Fitz's only response to that was to throw his hands up in the air in exasperation and mutter under his breath. Something about talking to brick walls and being surrounded by idiots and lost causes.

 

She bit down on her lip to try and stop herself from smiling. She turned back around to face Ward, hoping to catch her S.O.'s attention, and talk to him about why she had originally sought him out in the first place but found that his attention had strayed. It was, at this moment, fixed upon the female half of Fitzsimmons.

 

Somewhere in the middle of their argument, they had completely missed the scientist's “Aha!” moment, the moment she had had an epiphany, the moment she had come to some sort of theory as to what was going on. And like all good scientists, she now had to prove her theory. It was this that had caught Ward's attention. She had come hurrying around from her microscope, nudged past the Specialist to reach down into the cupboard beside him, her head disappearing entirely with nothing but her backside hanging out. The words to gleefully call him out on his blatant ogling (though it was probably being done without conscious thought) were right there on the tip of her tongue, but Jemma didn't give her much time at all. Not even five seconds later, she had popped her head back out of the cupboard, and turned around to face them waving around what looked like a rod shaped instrument of some sort.

 

“Found it!” she exclaimed, grinning happily.

 

She didn't offer any explanation, simply walked off to the corner of the room and before they could even ask, the room was plunged into darkness as she flicked the light switches.

 

“What the hell, Jemma?!” Fitz yelled.

 

“Just bear with me,” she said, “I'll show you guys.”

 

A few moments later, there was a slight buzz of electricity and the rod she'd been holding flickered on, emitting a bright violet light.

 

Picking up one of the petri dishes, she walked over and placed it on the work bench closest to them. Huddling around her, they watched as she shone the light over the plant specimen and Skye barely managed to stifle her surprised gasp.

 

In broad daylight, Simmons had been right. There had been nothing abnormal about these plants apart from the manner in which they had grown. And the same still held true. The plants were not alien in any way. What was alien, however, were the trails of sparkling purple lines that seemed to be spread all over the leaves and were only now visible under black light.

 

“Are they . . . moving?” Ward asked, surreptitiously taking a small step back.

 

Simmons nodded, unable to suppress the excitement in her voice, “Yes. I believe the plants have been infected by some sort of alien virus. It's most definitely alive. But I can't tell the origin and I can't tell if it's organic or inorganic-”

 

“Wait a minute,” Fitz interrupted, “Inorganic, you mean-”

 

“Nanites! Exactly!”

 

“Nanites,” Skye repeated, “That does not sound good.”

 

“Well yes and no. Nanotechnology has been around for a while but there's still a lot we don't know and there's a heavy amount of research going into it right now. Of course we don't know the origin of this-

 

“Jemma-”

 

“-which is going to make it a little more difficult-

 

“Jemma-”

 

“-but it is fascinating stuff!”

 

“Jemma!”

 

“What is it, Fitz?!”

 

Voice rather shaky, Fitz said only two words, “Your hand.”

 

“What about my . . .” the rest of her words died on her lips. The glow that was emitting from the UV lamp had enveloped part of her hands and there running up the centre of her palm was that same sparkling purple trail.

 

*****

 

Agent Melinda May stood silently off to the side as she watched Coulson do nothing but pace the length of his office.

 

He hadn't said one word since Skye had come running up to the cockpit and brought her here. The young agent in training had had a panicked expression on her face, and it had been more than enough for her to pull the switch, leaving the bus on autopilot and follow after her. When she had walked into Coulson's office, this was exactly how she had found him.

 

He hadn't stopped pacing for the past fifteen minutes and he hadn't said a single word either.

 

All she'd managed to get from Skye were the words, 'alien virus', 'infected' and 'murder'. None of which sounded like anything good.

 

“Sir,” she tried again, “What's happened?”

 

Coulson stopped in his tracks, stared down at her before releasing a sigh, “It appears we've bought the contagion aboard. Agents Ward and Fitzsimmons are all infected.”

 

She swallowed down her immediate worry and instead maintaining her ever present calm façade, she asked the obvious, “What about Skye?”

 

“Simmons checked me over three times, there weren't any of those tiny creepy purple robots on me anywhere. I don't know why, but it looks like I'm immune, or they just don't like me.”

 

“What about us?”

 

“Skye's already checked me over using the UV light rod, I'm clean. I suspect you are as well, as you were up here on the bus and nowhere near the site of initial contact, but we'll have to check you over as well.”

 

May nodded, “Fine. In the mean time, what are we going to do about the three of them?”

 

“For the moment, they're staying put in the lab until Simmons can figure out how it's spreading.”

 

“And then what?” Skye asked.

 

“And then, we work on eradicating it before our team go all psycho on each other and us.”

 

*****

 

He hated this.

 

It felt like the damned Chitauri virus all over again.

 

And just like last time, Simmons was at the centre of it again. And to make things worse, he and Fitz were also infected. And, of course, yet again, there wasn't a damned thing he could do to help. Just stand there on the sidelines, watch and hope the two scientists figured the damn thing out before they all lost their minds and turned on one another.

 

“Fitz! Will you please stop making that racket! I'm trying to concentrate!”

 

“Well I'm sorry, if I'm just a tad bit nervous. I might love robots, but I don't love them enough to want them crawling through my skin, most likely making their way up to my brain and _controlling me!”_

Ward sat up a little straighter, “Is that how this works?”

 

Simmons looked up at him, “No!” she cried out vehemently.

 

He felt a little less panicked at that, but then she opened her mouth and ruined it again with a “Well at least I think not. I'm not sure. Possibly. Maybe.”

 

“Oh god, we're gonna turn into robots!”

 

“Oh for the love of . . . we are not going to turn into robots, Fitz. That is not what happened to those people.”

 

“Right,” Ward said, peeling himself away from the wall he'd been attached to since Simmons had swept that UV light rod over his bare arm and had told him with a shuddering breath, and an apology in her eyes, that yes, he was infected too. Walking over towards her, he took a seat on one of the stools opposite from where she was working, “Coulson said earlier today that they'd just exhibited strange alterations to their personalities.”

 

“Exactly,” Simmons nodded, “They all reacted differently. We know of twenty-seven cases, and only one of them became homicidal, and only a handful became drastically different. The majority had only very slight, subtle shifts in their personalities. And that's of the cases we know of. It's possible there are some out there that have been infected by whatever this is and have not been affected in any way. I don't think we should be sleeping with one eye open just yet.”

 

“Well that's something I guess.”

 

“And I think I know how it spreads.”

 

And with those words, she had both men's undivided attention.

 

“Call Agent Coulson,” she ordered.

 

*****

 

“So it's basically through skin to skin contact?” Coulson asked.

 

Both he and Agent May stood together on one side of the glass door, along with Skye, whilst Simmons, Fitz and Ward stood on the other. It was eerily reminiscent of the time she'd been infected with the Chitauri virus, and she really didn't want to dwell on it but it was hard not to draw comparisons.

 

“Essentially. It's definitely not airborne and it's not water-borne. It seems to transfer from the surface of one living organism to another. Be it human, plant or animal,” she pointed over at one of the test mice, currently encased in a glass box with overhead black light. “On an inorganic surface, it appears to become inert and I have so far been unable to get it to transfer back on to a living subject. So I'm assuming we're safe to touch everything around us. Just not other people, plants, living matter.”

 

“How did you all get infected then?” May asked.

 

“I guess we weren't careful enough when handling the specimens and Ward . . .”

 

She turned to look at him and he shrugged, “It was probably when I went down to meet the chief local official overseeing the case. I shook his hand.”

 

“Do we have any idea where it originated from yet, Simmons?”

 

“No, not yet.”

 

“Ok, keep working on it. In the mean time, you guys are staying down here until we can sort out a way for you to move safely around the bus without infecting the rest of us.”

 

“Hang on a minute,” Fitz said edging closer to the glass, “Does that mean we're to stay in here?”

 

“Yes, Fitz. I am pretty sure that is just what I said.”

 

“What about food, what about going to the toilet, what about sleeping?”

 

“This whole lower level is yours, you can use the toilets down here. As for sleeping arrangements, we'll get you some sleeping bags. Extra warm. And as for food, I was just thinking of letting you all starve.”

 

By the look on his face, that hadn't been what he had wanted to hear.

 

Ward's consoling pat on his shoulder did nothing to remove the frown.

 

*****

 

He couldn't sleep. It wasn't the fact he was sleeping on the floor in the gym area, tucked in a sleeping bag. He'd slept in far worse and far less comfortable positions. And he couldn't really complain since the mat underneath at least provided some softness. No he couldn't sleep because his brain didn't seem to want to shut off. It appeared to delight in tormenting him about all the possible ways this could go wrong, and his brain seemed to be revelling in his paranoia. How much of this was him, and how much of it was the virus?

 

There was all that, but then there was also Fitz. And his snoring.

 

Pulling himself up into a sitting position, he unzipped himself from his sleeping bag, and looked around him. The source of all the noise had somehow rolled nearly two feet from where he had started the night, and was sleeping with his mouth wide open. Ward couldn't help the smile on his face. Shaking his head, he turned to look for Simmons, who had primly taken her sleeping bag last night and set herself up as far away from them both as she had thought proper. His smile only grew wider when he remembered the little squeak she'd let slip when he had started unbuttoning his trousers when getting ready to sleep.

 

She'd then chucked a pair of flannel pants at him. A pair of flannel pants that were most definitely his, although he much preferred to sleep in his boxers. He'd raised a quizzical brow at her and she had replied only with, “I asked Skye to bring down some supplies and an extra set of clothes for all of us.”

 

He'd replied with a grin and an “Of course you did.”

 

Looking over at her corner, he found her sleeping bag empty, and his smile was replaced by a worried frown.

 

Standing up, he quietly made his way over to the lab and wasn't surprised to find the lights off but the UV lamps very much on. The shadows were lit up with fluorescent violets and blues and there in the middle of it was Simmons, dressed in her soft pink pyjamas and with her safety goggles on her face. She looked, truth be told, a little ridiculous, and yet he could do nothing to stop the sudden warmth that bloomed in his chest. If it could have been given a name, it felt suspiciously a whole lot like fondness.

 

He managed to slide into the lab undetected and felt only a little guilty when she jumped up at the sound of his voice, “What are you doing?”

 

Hand on her chest, she narrowed her eyes up at him, “Even I know you're not meant to sneak up on friendlies, and I failed my field tests.”

 

“Clearly an oversight then,” he tried with an apologetic smile, but she only relented with his whispered “Sorry.”

 

“So what are you doing?”

 

She sighed sadly, “I don't know. I just couldn't sleep to be honest and I thought maybe I could work on trying to figure out how to get this thing out of our systems but I've just been standing here for the past ten minutes and I really don't know what to do.”

 

The despondent, far away look on her face made his insides twist. He had a feeling he knew exactly what she was thinking about.

 

“This isn't like before you know,” he said softly, “You're not alone in this.”

 

“I'm not sure that makes it any easier.”

 

He didn't think there was anything that could be said in answer to that.

 

She nodded her head in acknowledgement of his silent agreement and asked him in return, “Why aren't you sleeping?”

 

And there was another loaded question. He really wanted to pass it off as a joke, put the blame on Fitz and his snoring. He was sure she would play along with him, maybe laugh and say something along the lines of “Silly old Fitz! He snores like a rhinoceros and never believes me or anyone for that matter when we tell him!”

 

But instead, he remained silent. Rubbing a tired hand across his face, he walked around her, and then leaning up against the work bench behind her, he sighed. A deep, bone weary sigh, that came up out of nowhere and one that he didn't seem to have any control holding back.

 

Still, she said nothing. Just continued to stare up at him with her wide, patient brown eyes. Eyes that he could see a lot more clearly now that she'd removed the goggles from her face. He fought down the sudden, inexplicable urge he had to run his fingers along the indents the plastic had left behind on her cheeks.

 

“I am so tired of having my mind toyed with. I am fed up of all of this alien crap messing with my head, making me say and do things I don't want to be. I wish I didn't have to go through it all over again and god, I wish neither of you had to either.”

 

The minute the words came tumbling out, he regretted them almost instantly. He'd always shouldered his own burdens alone. He never thought it fair to load his problems on to someone else, even if they did offer up an ear or a shoulder to cry on. It was probably why he had managed alone all this time, why he had never really truly been a team player. He had always just buried his emotions, his feelings, locked them away, never for sharing. He would punch a few bags, shoot a few bulls-eyes and then shake his hands off and let the dust settle. Never to be thought about again.

 

Until of course he'd touched that damned Berserker staff, and then the flood gates had opened and he'd been knocked over by that tidal wave. He had managed to stem the flow, but those gates were still just the slightest ajar, and he couldn't get all those thoughts that haunted him back in. His default way of dealing with his many issues had been irrevocably destroyed and though he didn't realise it, maybe, just maybe, he was seeking absolution.

 

May had provided some out, some release. She'd been a kindred soul in many ways, and he had been drawn to that. But with his default mechanism destroyed, he had lost control of his emotions along the way and his feelings for the older woman had become tangled and murky and he had become lost all over again. In the end, May had made it easy for him. Cutting him off, once and for all. As swift as the swing of the executioner's axe.

 

Still, the pressure was building, and he was scared the valve wouldn't stay in tact for much longer and this virus was probably just the kind of weakness it was looking for to snap it right off.

 

If Simmons was surprised at all by his honesty, she did an admirable job of not showing it. What was even more surprising was the softness of her finger tips as she reached out a hand and placed it over his folded arms.

 

He tried to jerk away, remembering the virus, but she only held on a little tighter. She shrugged one slight shoulder and smiled, “Already infected, remember. Pretty sure it's fine.”

 

He would have relaxed at that if he hadn't just become hyper-aware of the fact that he was standing there shirtless, in nothing but a pair of dark blue plaid flannel pants.

 

“I'm sorry,” she said then, her smile faltering, “Not just for this and the Berserker staff, but Lorelai too.”

 

 

He sucked in a hard breath and barked out a short angry laugh.

 

And yet again, she didn't budge. She just stood there, this little five foot something of woman, surprisingly strong, undeniably brilliant and maddeningly brave woman, her hand still on his arm, and her thumb still running back and forth soothingly over hot, burning skin. “I know I don't know all the details, and exactly what happened, but I know you shouldn't feel the need to gloss over it just because everyone else has.”

 

He shook his head, and then grabbed a hold of her hand, small and warm in his. “One   problem at a time, Simmons. One problem at a time.”

 

She smiled again, and this time the warmth in his chest which had grown from fondness felt just a little heavier, and a whole lot more profound.

 

“We'll figure it out.”

 

*****

 

Walking into the conference room with her morning cup of coffee, Skye wasn't entirely surprised to find both Agents Coulson and May already wide awake, dressed and ready for the day. They were standing leaning their fronts against the table, eyes glued to the large screen display as they watched the remainder of their team's every move down in the lab.

 

Fitz and Simmons were already moving effortlessly around the lab, each busy with whatever piece of the alien virus puzzle they were trying to solve. And Ward? Ward just seemed to have shrunk himself into the corner (a hard feat given his size), out of the way, and kept one eye on the scientists at all times as he bit into a piece of toast.

 

“So has anyone taken a leaf out of the Bruce Banner play book and unleashed their alter ego yet?”

 

May apparently didn't think that particular question warranted a response and Skye got no reaction out of her apart from a small tick in her jaw. Coulson on the other hand at least gave her a “Good morning Skye. Nice of you to join us.” And she was certain there was an amused, affectionate smile playing with the corner of his mouth with those words.

 

“I can't see any signs that the virus has had an effect on any one of them yet. It's hard to tell when we should expect to see anything. Simmons is only working with very limited information, unfortunately.”

 

“True, but if anyone is going to figure this thing out, it's going to be those geniuses down there.”

 

It was at that moment that one of those geniuses managed to accidentally tip over a glass cylinder of fluid all over his work, and the resulting litany of curses were thankfully difficult to comprehend. The more angry he got, the thicker his Scottish brogue got.

 

Coulson raised an eyebrow at the scene, as if to say 'maybe . . .'

 

With a hand on his shoulder, Skye shook her head, “No that's just Fitz without his morning cup of tea and lack of sleep in a comfortable bed.”

 

“Right.”

 

“Well this has been enlightening,” May said, “Call me if anything changes.” With that, she left the room, most likely heading up to the cockpit to check everything was still in order.

 

Tapping her fingers on the large table, Skye fretted over her next choice of words. With May gone, it should have been easy enough, but in all honesty this particular secret she shared with the man standing beside her (who was the closest she was ever going to get to a father figure), frightened her to her core.

 

“Coulson?”

 

“Skye?”

 

She took a deep breath in before blurting, “I touched those plants.”

 

The older man turned around to face her, a worried, stern expression on his face. Before he could even say anything though, she placed out her hand and barrelled on, “This was before. Not after we found out how it spreads. This was back down there in the Columbian forest. I touched it. But I'm not infected, and I've been thinking,” she lowered her voice to barely a whisper, “Do you think it's because, you know . . .”

 

“I know what you're thinking Skye, and no I don't think so.”

 

“But it's possible.”

 

“Anything is possible.”

 

“So, shouldn't we tell them then? Maybe there's something in my blood that can fight this thing. We should tell them-”

 

“No.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because until we have more information it's better we keep this to ourselves.”

 

“But I might be able to-”

 

“Skye,” he interrupted, “No. Fitz and Simmons will figure this out. In the mean time, we carry on keeping this quiet, do you understand?”

 

She hated it, but she trusted him and allowed him a begrudging, “Yes.”

 

*****

 

“You know, I'm not usually this clumsy,” Fitz moaned as he threw the last of the wipes into the bin.

 

“Maybe it's the nanites?” Ward piped up.

 

“Do you think?” Fitz asked, a worried expression on his face, though it didn't stay there very long when he narrowed his eyes at the Specialist, “Hardy har-har. Nice try Ward. Not falling for that.”

 

“Aw Fitz,” he laughed, and then placing an arm around the engineer he brought him in for a side hug and ruffled his hair with his free hand. Fitz's expression was a picture, and Jemma couldn't help the grin on her face at the sight.

 

Fitz tried to push him away to no avail. Ward only held on tighter, the smile on his face making him squirm harder, “Oh don't be like that Fitz, you're hurting my feelings.”

 

“And you're officially creeping me out. This is not funny. You can't be joking about things like this!”

 

“What am I supposed to be joking about?” Ward asked, somehow managing to keep a straight face, and adding on a particularly ridiculous pout, “I'm just a naturally sensitive kind of guy.”

 

“No you are not. And no it is not the nanites making you act this way. You're just being an arse.”

 

Jemma, unable to hold it in any longer, let out a rather loud snort followed by giggling that just got progressively louder.

 

Ward looked over at her and dropped the pretense. Letting go of Fitz, he slapped him hard across the back once and then smiled just a little bit smugly at having successfully turned the biochemist into a puddle of uncontrollable laughter. Fitz's face was the icing on the cake.

 

It was a full minute later before she stopped laughing, and at Fitz's continuing glare, she finally conceded, “Fitz is right. We really shouldn't joke about this. We need to know if we're actually starting to get affected by the virus, and acting out is not going to help us.”

 

Ward nodded, the smile still there, but disappointingly (for reasons that she was not going to ponder now) not beaming quite at full force, “No you're right,” he said, “I'm sorry.”

 

“So you should be,” Fitz muttered under his breath.

 

“Are you always this grumpy?” Ward asked.

 

“Only when I have alien nano-robots digging around my electrics and probably doing some unauthorised rewiring.”

 

“Fair enough.”

 

Jemma watched the ongoing exchange between the two men with increasing fascination. Ward reached out and lightly slapped Fitz on the shoulder – a boyish gesture of friendly camaraderie. On itself, nothing really to cause much concern. However, he then followed that up with the words, “In all honesty though, I may be an 'arse' as you put it, but I do respect you Fitz. I think you're quite brilliant.”

 

Fitz then grinned up at him, and returned the favour. Slapping him hard on the back, he uttered with the utmost of sincerity, “Right back at you my friend!”

 

Dropping her entire rack of test tubes on to the floor, the resulting crash of sound from the breaking glass had both men turning to face the biochemist with equal looks of concern.

 

“What on _earth_ was that?!”

 

“What was what?” they both asked. At the same time.

 

The identical expressions of confusion on their faces was making her head spin.

 

“Never mind. It doesn't matter because I am going to fix this stupid thing. This virus is not going to spend another damn minute on this bus, messing with our minds, if I can help it. This fucker is going to die today!”

 

“Jemma!”

 

“What Fitz?!”

 

“You just . . .”

 

“I just what?” she looked up at him confused, pulling heavily on the collar of her shirt. Pursing her lips, she blew out a breath, “Is it me, or is it really warm in here?”

 

Not waiting, or really expecting any answers, she took off her lab coat, leaving it to drape haphazardly over one of the lab stools. Next went her jumper, and she completely missed Grant Ward's wandering eyes as the bottom of her shirt lifted with her arms, as she pulled it up and over her head. And then, last but by no means least, came the shirt buttons and it was only Fitz's little indignant squeak that stopped her from undoing one too many. Her fingers stopped just one button shy of indecency, but Ward was pretty sure his brain had just short circuited from even getting a glimpse at the top edge of her bra. Dark purple. Lacy. Holy crap.

 

Back up in the conference room, Agent Coulson, with an air of just about restrained panic, turned to his young agent and said, “09:46. I guess we should make a note of that.”

 

*****

 

Ward was struggling. Really struggling

 

There was a reason he _hated_ his brain being messed around with. And this time was no exception. He could feel it in himself that something wasn't quite right. He didn't feel himself, even though he was and even though he felt as if he still had complete autonomy over his thoughts, speech and actions, it just didn't feel _right._

Fitz, of the three of them, seemed less affected, and he wasn't quite sure why that was.

 

Whereas Simmons? Simmons was actually driving him to distraction.

 

And the worst part was, she had _absolutely no idea._

She was leaning over her workbench again, pen hanging out of her mouth, fingers swiping furiously over her tablet. She had nothing but a look of pure concentration on her face, brows furrowed. He could see her mind working over time trying to figure this out. The normally calm, reserved diminutive Englishwoman had become prone to frustrated, foul mouthed outbursts under the influence of the nanovirus and he was having a difficult time marrying the two sides of her in his head.

 

Her cheeks had become rosy with her exertions, the flush spreading down her neck, and down even further and he was helpless to stop his own roving gaze.

 

This was bad. So bad.

 

He'd known on some level that she was pretty. Any man, or woman for that matter, could look in her direction and come to that conclusion in less than five seconds. But he had tried to never let his thoughts dwell on that, because ultimately he should only ever really be admiring her in a professional capacity. Which he did. Everybody did.

 

Somewhere along the way though, he'd begun to see more than he'd bargained for.

 

Her courage. Her generosity. Her huge, soft heart. Her unending patience to listen. Really listen. Just as she had done last night. Her smile. The way she crinkled her nose when she laughed. Her bull headed competitive streak. Her adorable inability to lie. And therefore perhaps by extension, her utter ineptitude at setting up pranks. Her intelligence, which was frankly intimidating at times, but also made him beam from the inside out with pride.  She was utterly amazing. Beautiful in a way that it physically hurt.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

Still dazed, he only just about managed to hear her question and lifted his eyes to meet hers.

 

“No not really.”

 

She looked so genuinely concerned when she asked, “Why? What's wrong?”

 

Apparently this virus had flipped his years of emotional constipation and inability to open up on its head, and he'd lost all control of the filter between his brain and mouth. All that came out was honesty, in all it's cringe-worthy glory and he was helpless to stop it.

 

“You're distracting me.”

 

She looked a little surprised and confused as she stuttered, “I'm . . . distracting you?” And then at his guilty expression, she seemed to catch on fast and the turn of her lips  became downright dangerous.

 

“Distracting you how exactly?”

 

He smacked his lips together and refused to open them, because he was sure whatever came out next would be a hundred times more embarrassing.

 

While the virus seemed to be the equivalent of sodium thiopental in his system, in hers, it was a realisation of an altogether different kind of truth.

 

Always a confident woman, especially in her work and intelligence, Jemma Simmons, whilst not blind to her own femininity, was however completely clueless about her effect on men. But now it seemed she'd become hyper-aware of that fact and was toying mercilessly with it.

 

She leaned across the table a little further, and he willed his eyes to stay focussed on her face. In hind sight, that probably hadn't been that much better as the slow smile that spread across her face and the pure molten heat in her eyes had him shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

 

His mouth went completely dry and she seemed to be revelling in her small victory. But this game wasn't Scrabble and he wasn't so easily beat. He could play too.

 

Getting up from his seat, he sauntered across towards her, eyes holding hers the entire way there. He stopped on the other side of the table and then leaned down, weight going through his arms and into his wrists as he held the edge. She had to look up at him to keep the eye contact and he started to feel a little bit of his control ebb back.

 

His eyes then drifted slowly down her face, halting at her mouth as she bit down on her lower lip.

 

The pull between them was getting more difficult to ignore by the second, and without thought he found himself leaning down just as she leaned forwards, their lips only a hairbreadth away from touching.

 

Of course, Fitz, entirely oblivious to the serious electric storm brewing between the two of his team mates, chose that moment to exclaim quite excitedly, “I've got it!”

 

Running up from his side of the lab to stand in the middle of them, he said, literally jumping on the spot, “Guys I've got it!”

 

It wasn't until his subsequent words, that the spell broke, “We have to die!”

 

“What?” Jemma asked, snapping her head up towards the Scot.

 

“We have to what?” Ward managed to ask at about the same time, his words somehow coming out steady, even though he felt he was being starved of oxygen and he needed to gulp down huge lungfuls of air.

 

Fitz's utter joy was at complete odds and incongruent with his words. “We have to die!” he repeated.

 

It looked like Ward hadn't been the only one affected by whatever had just been happening between them, as Simmons found herself a few steps behind her normal thought processing. Still, she managed to catch on quick enough, “Oh, _oh!_ That's brilliant! That's brilliant Fitz, why didn't I think of it?!”

 

“You were too busy making moon eyes at Special Agent Super Spy.”

 

Okay, so maybe he hadn't been completely oblivious.

 

“Do one of you want to share with the rest of the class, because I don't see how the words “have to die” could form part of any solution.”

 

Simmons turned her bright eyes on him then and they were brimming with excitement, sparking in a completely different way than they had been just a few moments ago, “These nanites, we've already established become inert on inorganic substances. In essence, anything that isn't alive. If we can fool them into thinking-”

 

“We're dead,” he finished, “then they'd just die?”

 

“Not die, really, since they're not really alive, but become inert.”

 

“But even if we can fool them into thinking we're dead, could they not just switch back on later?”

 

“Like a latent infection?” Fitz asked, “I don't think so. Since Simmons already tried to see what would happen if we transferred an inert nanite to a live subject. Nothing.”

 

“Though of course, there's no guarantee that they might not re-activate at a later date, it's all we have at the moment. It's also possible that DC cardioversion will not only fool them into becoming inert but also fry them permanently.”

 

“DC cardioversion?” Fitz asked with a grimace, “I was thinking more of using adenosine, not entirely pleasant, but definitely less painful.”

 

“We wouldn't do it without sedation and analgesia,” Simmons huffed, her tone suggesting her fellow scientist was being a bit dim-witted, “And anyway, we'd have to induce an arrythmia before using adenosine, and it'd be a lot less stable.”

 

“We'd have to induce an arrythmia with DC cardioversion too, and if we jump straight to the shock, we would be flat out killing ourselves with no guarantee of a way back. I'm positive the few seconds of heart block from the adenosine will be enough, if not we'll keep the shocking in our back pocket.”

 

“Fine.”

 

“Good.”

 

Having not followed any of what was being said, Ward simply left the two scientists to it, muttering to himself as he slipped out of the lab, “I'll just go get the rest of the team then, shall I?”

 

*****

 

“I think I'll be sad to see this side of you go.”

 

She wasn't looking at him as she said the words. Instead, her focus remained on untying the tourniquet around his upper arm and securing the cannula in the crease of his forearm.

 

Fitz was standing by the cardiac monitor, the rest of the team hovering just outside the medical pod, watching through the glass window.

 

It had taken a lot of convincing to get Coulson to allow them to try this. The idea of any one of them “having to die” even if it was momentary was not something that had sat well with him, or any of the others for that matter. But it was all they had to go on at this moment. And although the effects of the virus on the three of them hadn't been quite so drastic as they had initially worried about, there was still so much they didn't know about it. Who knew for sure just what would happen to them if they let the virus fester inside them for any longer than need be? And so with well justified trepidation, Coulson had given them the green light, leading them here, to this moment.

 

“Which side is that?” Ward asked, even though he had a feeling he knew just exactly what she was talking about.

 

She didn't answer, just gave him a soft smile that reminded him a lot more of the Simmons pre-alien virus. He had been about to say something to a similar effect about her but with that gentle curve of her lips and the genuine warmth in her gaze, he found himself re-thinking. While flirty Simmons had been a whole hell of a lot of fun, it wasn't who she was, and he missed _her_. Plus, he wasn't sure his blood pressure would be able to take much more.

 

“You might feel a little nauseous at first and experience a horrible sensation in your chest when we administer the drug, but it shouldn't last more than a few seconds.”

 

She was all business, and so he followed suit. It wouldn't do to dwell on what had very nearly happened. Neither of them were themselves and it all lead back to things screwing with their minds and taking away their right to think, act and choose of their own free will. None of it meant a thing. And they couldn't be held responsible for what they had said or how they may have acted under the influence.

 

“Ready?” Fitz asked as he hooked up the chest leads to the machine.

 

“As I'll ever be.”

 

*****

 

The rap on the door had Coulson reach forward and gently close the laptop on his desk before he called out, “Come in.”

 

Poking her head around the door frame, Agent Jemma Simmons wore a look of apprehension and worry. He imagined she had probably been the type of girl who had very rarely got in trouble as a child and had probably never set foot inside the headmistress' office unless it had been to receive a commendation of some sort.

 

“You called for me sir?”

 

“Yes I did. Come in.”

 

The young woman walked into his office and stood before him. She looked a lot like she had when they'd managed to fish her and Ward out of Moroccan waters, and he'd called them both up here for a tongue lashing. Except this time was different.

 

“You don't have to look so worried,” he said pointing to the chair in front of him in offer.

 

She didn't take it.

 

“I just wanted to say well done.”

 

“Oh,” she said visibly relaxing, “Well thank you sir, but it was a joint effort.”

 

Coulson nodded.“I know,” he said, before diving straight into the crux of the matter, “I also called you here because I have some questions. We're not done here by any means. We've fixed one problem but we're right back at square one. We need to know who designed this virus and to what end, and I wanted to know if you've made any headway on answering those questions?”

 

“I'm still working on it sir, but I am beginning to understand the virus itself better and  I'm hoping that will give me some clues as to its origin.”

 

“Ok good. Keep me apprised.”

 

“Yes sir,” she nodded. She waited just a beat before pointing back at the door, “Was that all?”

 

It hadn't been all in fact, but for some reason he found himself not wanting to push any further. What he really wanted to ask was if there were any residual effects. Whether whatever it was he'd witnessed between his two agents down in the lab had merely been a consequence of this obscure personality altering virus, that still made so little sense, or whether there was actually something brewing there that should be giving him cause for concern.

 

May and Ward were one thing.

 

Simmons and Ward?

 

Another thing altogether.

 

But the young woman in front of him looked exhausted and already weighed down enough by her own thoughts. He thought it best not to add to her burdens, just yet. And so he lied, “That was all.”

 

*****

 

She knew he'd been holding back. Agent Coulson's poker face wasn't nearly as good as he thought it was. She had her suspicions as to what he had wanted to ask but was eternally grateful that he hadn't. She was embarrassed enough already and was glad for the reprieve of not having to talk about it just yet.

 

So nothing had happened. Not really. She'd maybe sworn a lot more than normal, become a little bit of a flirt but it hadn't been anything too terrible. She certainly hadn't murdered anyone.

 

And Ward, well she wasn't entirely sure just what exactly the virus had done to him. Made him more open? Receptive? Goodness knew, but she refused to read too much into it.

 

And no. No she wasn't avoiding him. She just had a lot, _a lot,_ of work to do.

 

Although, Coulson may have given her a break, she wasn't that lucky to be able to avoid the subject altogether.

 

Just as she had been walking past the bunks, Skye's door had opened, and with one hand she had grabbed hold of her arm and dragged her into her room despite her little squeal of protest. “Hey, what are you doing?! Skye!”

 

“We need to talk.”

 

“You could have just said that you know, instead of manhandling and then kidnapping me!”

 

“Kidnapping?” Skye raised an eyebrow.

 

“Okay, no, but you know what I mean! What is this about?”

 

“Oh you know . . .” she said, wiggling her eyebrows.

 

“Oh no. No I am not talking about that. I wasn't myself. It can't be held against me.”

 

“So okay, fine. It altered your personality, but that had to have come from somewhere! You guys were this close,” she held up her thumb and index finger as close together as possible without them touching, “to making out like two hormonal teenagers and doing the nasty right there on-”

 

“Skye!”

 

“What? You know neither of you can even deny it. It's all right there on the video recording.”

 

“I really don't want to talk about it. I'd rather pretend it never happened and just focus on solving whether we have an imminent worldwide alien threat on our hands or if this was just a one off attack, accident, experiment, etc.”

 

“Okay fine. I'm backing off.”

 

“Good.”

 

“But if you ever want to talk about it-”

 

“I won't be keeping you in mind.”

 

*****

 

Skye's words stayed with her. The idea that there had been something driving that one interaction she'd had with Ward, that there had been weight behind their short-lived flirtation, played on her mind more than it should. It got her thinking about the night before in the darkness of her lab. Whether him opening up to her about the Berserker staff, Lorelai, had been his choice, and his choice alone. Had that even been real? It had certainly felt real and genuine at the time.

 

The next few days passed in a blur of work, testing hypotheses, scrapping theories and coming up with new ones. Keeping busy afforded her little opportunity to torture herself over what had happened, and even over what _could_ have happened if Fitz hadn't had his epiphany when he had. And if she got to avoid talking to Ward about the entire thing during that time, then that was a happy by-product.

 

It couldn't be avoided forever, of course, and it finally all came to a head on a Thursday afternoon, right back where it had all started.

 

There was a certain sense of satisfaction watching the perpetrators being bundled into the back of a police van, especially when a number of them had been dirty members of the Columbian government who had lied straight to their faces the very first day S.H.I.E.L.D. had become involved. They had been colluding with a small group of fringe scientists, driven more by financial incentive, then love of their craft, to design a biotech weapon that could in theory be used against enemy militants. The idea behind it was this notion that everyone had a genetic switch that could be targeted to turn human against human. Of the thirty people affected by the prototype virus, they had succeeded just the once. In the grand scheme of things, it was still a percentage too high to take a risk with, even if Fitz had declared the work as “shoddy” and “voodoo science”.

 

“You do have to wonder though,” Simmons said, “Where did they get the alien components from?”

 

“They're not working alone,” Coulson answered her, “Think about it, they just needed a relatively quiet place to test this out, they could have chosen anywhere in the world. Those scientists were of various different nationalities, share no loyalties in common, and no moral compass. It was just about money to them. This has Ian Quinn written all over it.”

 

“And somehow that does not surprise me, at all,” Skye remarked under her breath, kicking up the dirt under her feet as the van moved out, dust billowing out from under the tyres.

 

“What are they going to do about this area of rainforest that's been affected?” Ward asked.

 

“Unfortunately, it's going to have to be torched.”

 

Simmons made her outrage known at that, as if deforestation in this part of the world  wasn't already a huge problem, but Coulson could only shake his head sadly, “I know, but we can't risk further spread to civilians.”

 

There was no room for argument with that statement, and even though it pained her, unless she could come up with an alternative, there really was no choice.

 

“Can I at least go back and collect a few more samples for my research. I think it would be really useful to examine some of the invertebrates that-”

 

He didn't even let her finish her sentence before uttering the word “No” loud and clear.

 

“But-”

 

“No Simmons, it's too dangerous.”

 

“It won't take more than half an hour, an hour tops-”

 

“Simmons-”

 

“I'll go with her.”

 

All sets of eyes turned towards the man who had spoken. Simmons jerked her head up in surprise, and looked up at Ward who was standing a little way off to her side. She could only see his profile and his expression gave nothing away.

 

He shrugged, “It's fine, I'll make sure we're out well before they light a single match.”

 

Coulson was not pleased, that much was obvious from him flattening his lips and the hard glare he was currently sending his Specialist. Skye on the other hand was barely restraining herself. Simmons could tell she was itching to bounce on the balls of her feet and was not so subtly looking back and forth between the two of them. She was trying to catch her attention, but Jemma studiously avoided her gaze, not particularly wanting to see the suggestive smirk on her friends' lips. Fitz, in blessed contrast, didn't appear to have a clue as to what was going on. Or perhaps, didn't care to know.

 

“Fine,” Coulson relented, “but if anything happens, it's on your head.”

 

Ward nodded curtly, “Yes sir.”

 

“Everybody else, move out.”

 

Jemma watched on as the rest of the team piled into the black SUV, heading off back towards the Bus, which was being refuelled back in Vásquez Cobo. 

 

Their departure left a thick, awkward tension in the air. It was all the more stifling given the humidity, and the incessant buzzing of flies around them. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to say to the man standing there with her.

 

“Thank you,” seemed the best place to start.

 

He didn't respond. Instead he walked right past her, heading down the dirt road, that got progressively narrower, and muddier, as it made its way into the jungle.

 

“Let's get moving then Simmons, clock's ticking, and those clouds don't look especially friendly either.”

 

She tried not to let his curt, nothing-but-business voice get to her.

 

It was easier said than done.

 

Looking up at the overcast sky, she let out a deep breath and followed after him.

 

*****

 

Yes, he was a little bit angry. Not at her. No. No, more the entire situation.

 

That conversation they'd had under the bright violet and blue shades of her UV lamps had been the truth. He hated having his mind toyed with by alien entities. Taking away someone's ability to control their actions, thoughts, speech, was the most sadistic way of breaking them. Physical torture he could handle, but psychological warfare killed more of a man's spirit than most would admit to, and he wasn't sure there was always a way back from it.

 

In comparison to the shit Lorelai had put him through, and the hellish pit of despair and rage the Berserker staff had thrown him into, this stupid nanovirus had been child's play.

 

But still, it ate away at him.

 

It had forced him to face some truths he hadn't been ready for.

 

His feelings for the biochemist had always been blurry and undefinable at best. They had evolved over time through shared experiences, from respect to fondness, to something more tangible that he hadn't been able to quite put his finger on. Not until the virus had added attraction to the mix and brought it to the forefront, lighting it up in neon shades of blushing skin, teasing lips and a near kiss that still sent electric shocks through him if he thought about it too long.

 

Though the virus had highlighted his truths with crystal clear clarity, Simmons' reactions to him hadn't been driven from the same place of honesty as his. The virus had corrupted her actions, leaving him with no idea as to where he stood with her at all.

 

He also had no idea what she was thinking. She'd been avoiding him ever since she'd flushed that syringe of adenosine through his vein and stopped his heart.

 

Was she embarrassed? Angry at him? She hadn't said a word, and it had slowly been driving him mad and frustrating him to the point where the punching bag down in the gym was now in need of replacing.

 

And so yes, he may have jumped at the opportunity to volunteer his services as guide and guard, even if it was to the obvious displeasure of his boss. But he just needed to know what she was thinking. Except, of course, now that they were here, he had no idea how to broach the subject.

 

She treated him with nothing but professional courtesy, and worked away for the most part in silence. Before he even knew it, forty five minutes had flown past and she was bottling up the last of her specimens.

 

Turning to him, she smiled politely, “All done. Thank you for accompanying me.”

 

He nodded, and offered out a hand to carry her rucksack.

 

“Oh no that's okay,” she said, “I'll manage.”

 

“Are you sure? Looks quite heavy, especially now that you've filled it with every single specie of six legged-plus creepy crawly you could find, as well as the multiple pieces of tree bark and literal rocks you've thrown in there.” He couldn't help the small twitch of his lips when she blushed at his words.

 

“There is a perfectly good reason for that.”

 

“I'm sure there is.”

 

Shaking her head, she gave in and held out the bag to him, “Fine. Thank you, it would be much appreciated.”

 

He grabbed the bag from her hands, and heaved it up on to his right shoulder.

 

This time, instead of leading the way in front of her, he stepped in line beside her, and took a chance,

 

“You know we never really got a chance to talk about what hap-”

 

“Oh look! Is that a marmoset?!”

 

“Simmons-”

 

“Oh wow there's three of them!”

 

“Simmons, we really shou-”

 

“Oh aren't they adorable?”

 

“Yes, very. Simmons,” he said again, this time grabbing her by both her arms and turning her around to face him. His grip was firm, just enough to keep her facing him but not enough to hurt her, “Stop trying to change the subject.”

 

“I'm not. I have no idea what the subject is. I don't even know what you're tal- arghh!”

 

He tried not to laugh at her as she shrieked and jumped under his fingertips with the loud boom of thunder that reverberated across the skies above them. It seemed they had run out of time, and the overcast clouds they'd spotted earlier were now entirely saturated and on the precipice of opening up over them.

 

He felt the first, fat drop of rainwater hit his face and slide down his nose.

 

“We need to get out of here.”

 

“No. Not before we've finished this conversation.”

 

She looked up at him in disbelief, “Are you mad? We are ten seconds away from being  caught up in a huge tropical rainstorm and you think now is a good time to _talk?”_

“Yes.”

 

Her incredulous expression gave way to a burst of laughter as the heavens did indeed open up just then and drench them within seconds.

 

“You are ridiculous!” she practically had to shout at him through the noise of the downpour.

 

“And you Jemma Simmons are beautiful.”

 

The smile left her lips instantly, and he drew in a deep breath, “I thought so even before the virus.”

 

She shook her head.

 

“It's the truth. And I also think that what nearly happened in the lab had nothing to do with the virus either.”

 

“Really?” she asked, raising one sceptical eyebrow, “Nothing at all? So that was all me, was it?”

 

“I think it just gave us a little shove in the right direction.”

 

She pulled away from him, slipping out from under his grasp, “We really need to go.”

 

“Jemma,” he called out, grabbing hold of her arm and pulling her back in. The force of his tug, together with the slipperiness of the mud underfoot had her slide back towards him easily, and collide full force into his chest.

 

He didn't let her go.

 

“Answer this then,” he said, “were there any residual effects, as far as you are aware, in any of the people that were infected?”

 

She shook her head, eyes blinking rapidly as she tried to keep out the rain.

 

“Then why do I still have the urge to kiss you, _every single time_ I look at you.”

 

She had no answer to that. She just stared up at him with wide brown eyes, rain forgotten.

 

He was taking a gamble. He knew what he was feeling, and maybe it all was just one-sided and he was the world's biggest fool for even entertaining the possibility that someone like her could ever be interested in someone like him, without the influence of alien mind altering substances. But he hoped. Oh, how he hoped.

 

“Unless it's just me.”

 

She swallowed, hard.

 

“It's not just you,” she said, so quietly, he almost hadn't heard her. He had been about to ask her to repeat herself, but found he didn't have to when she reached forwards and grabbing him by the collar of his waterproof jacket, pulled his lips down onto hers.

 

Her lips were soft, warm and wet with the rain water, and it took him a few too many seconds to register what was happening and respond. She started to pull away, and he wasn't about to let that happen.

 

Reaching up, he tangled one hand in her hair, and cradling the back of her head, he traced the curve of her cheek with his thumb and pressed his lips back against hers. His other hand snaked its way around her waist, pulling her in tight against him.

 

His lips didn't leave hers once as he stumbled them both backwards, not stopping until her back collided with one of the trees. She let out a little gasp into his mouth, before giggling into the rain as he trailed his lips across her cheek, and down her neck. “Sorry,” he mouthed against her skin, but she just shook her head and lifted his face back up to meet hers.

 

She was utterly soaked, rivulets of rain running down her face, catching in her eyelashes, but her smile couldn't be dampened. She grabbed a hold of his face in both her hands and kissed him again, smiling against his lips, “We really should be heading back.”

 

He shook his head.

 

“We are going to catch really bad colds.”

 

“We've dealt with much worse viruses,” he said in between kisses.

 

“Coulson is not going to be happy.”

 

“Don't care.”

 

“It's going to take some serious convincing to make him think that this is even a good idea, and being late back is not going to help our cause.”

 

“Really don't care,” he mumbled, nuzzling her neck.

 

“Grant! We need to go.”

 

He laughed, and beamed down at her full force, “Okay, fine, but we're not done here.”

 

“I never said we were.”

 

When they returned to the bus an hour later than promised, looking like drowned rats and with guilty smiles on their faces, they avoided every probing stare. Coulson may have shaken his head at them, but Ward could've sworn he'd been smiling too. Just a little.

 

Maybe, he wouldn't need too much convincing after all.

 

“The both of you, my office, now.”

 

Or maybe not.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
